


Moon Gate

by Iorhael



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iorhael/pseuds/Iorhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam. In Bag End. Longing for someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moon Gate

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Moongate by Secret Garden. Reviewed and proofread by my greatest beta, Celandine Goodbody. Love you!

Bag End. Lonely.   
  
Hollow.   
  
Empty.   
  
Dark.   
  
The living room. The cold couches and the neat tables. Too neat.   
  
The lamps. The chandelier. The candles unlit. No one was there to light them.   
  
The hall. The long hall. The wooden panel and the paintings hanging on it. They were portraits of those who dwelt here long ago and had long ago left. Their eyes. Those hobbit eyes. Soft, smiling, blissful. Warm. But with a longing that could be felt by those who saw them.   
  
The study. The chair pushed inside against the desk. No one using it. In fact, no one would ever sit on it again. No one would ever face the desk again, finishing the volume of a book. A volume that needed to be completed. Complete would it be someday but entries would not be scribbled here, not on this desk.   
  
_“The last pages are for you.”_  
  
But… who would dare?   
  
The kitchen. The large table adorned with dishes piled up on its corner. Clean and empty. No crumbs, no cakes, no slices of pies to accompany the tea. No tea. No hot pot full of steaming tea just taken from the fire ready to pour.   
  
No fire. The hearth was silent. No crackling noises of burning wood. No red-hot fire spreading the warmth across the room. Cold.   
  
The saucepan, the frying pan, the other pans, hanging quietly. Cold. Vegetables, fruit, potatoes, usually there ready to be cooked, were gone.   
  
The window at the end of the pantry was locked. Its round and shiny pane gazed wordlessly outward.   
  
Not at the vast green field.   
  
Not at the swaying needles of grass.   
  
Not at the dark water of the small stream.   
  
But at the moon suspended from the imperceptible hand of the sky.   
  
Neither clusters of clouds nor twinkles of stars could impede its pale, glorious shine to the earth.   
  
For no more did darkness reign over Middle Earth.   
  
No more.   
  
The moon was glittering, casting off its light into a heart, fighting and battling against the woe there, but… would it prevail?   
  
The moon had opened its gate, guided by its lovely and peaceful light, something that was closely covered and thoroughly hidden. Something that was imperceptible during the dark times. Unseen by those stumbling over Emyn Muil. Invisible to those crouching through the Dead Marshes, scrambling up the winding stairs, crawling across the Gorgoroth Plain.   
  
The gate had been closed then, when the world was under the dominion of the Dark Sovereignty.   
  
But it was all over now.   
  
There were no more shadows looming over Middle Earth.   
  
Save perhaps in Bag End.   
  
The moon had reached out its fingers, bringing the light through the shut window. But the obscurity was too thick and the sorrow was too deep. Nothing could lighten the place again. Nothing could console … his heart.  
  
He rested his head on his folded arms and his arms upon the windowsill. Looking at the moon. Drawing in its strength, or light, or warmth somehow. And his face dampened. Tears trickling down the creased skin, once so supple and crisp.   
  
What was the use of them all – the moon, the light, the warmth – without his master by his side? Let them be stranded in the dire Emyn Muil or Gorgoroth, but at least they were together. What was the use of Bag End with all its luxuries if it was forsaken by its main source of light and bliss?   
  
Sam's thoughts felt heavy on his chest and in his mind. His eyes were shut now. His face was lit by the glow from the moon but the darkness crept in from behind, swallowing him.   
  
Let him be, let him be. Let him grieve here. Alone.   
  
_“Well, I’m back.”_  
  
Yet, he was not fully back.   
  
He was assured of healing, being surrounded by those who loved him. Rosie. And the children.   
  
Still, he did not completely return.   
  
The memories were too deep. They would not be easily erased from his mind let alone be undone.   
  
Others just did not understand. Only a few would.   
  
Sam opened his eyes and the moon was still up there. Still offering its help to lift up Sam’s soul. He rubbed over his soggy eyes. Maybe if he just opened his heart a bit…   
  
But the moon was so far away.   
  
It was kind.   
  
It was alleviating.   
  
But it was far. Just like… Just like…   
  
A hand was laid upon his shoulder. A gentle, smooth hand. He leaned to the touch. It was warm.   
  
Sam heaved a deep breath and turned around.   
  
Another hand was clutching at a candlestick. With a lit candle on it.  
  
Sam brightened up. He smiled but he cried again. He must learn to let go. His master was hurting too much.   
  
He had found the light. And it was close. So close.   
  
He would heal. He would return. And perhaps his beloved master – and friend – would too.   
  
  
  
The End


End file.
